


Flight

by AlleiraDayne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, Boys Kissing, Fluff, Gentle Kissing, Kissing, M/M, Wing Grooming, Wings, molting, pruning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 03:24:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18562921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleiraDayne/pseuds/AlleiraDayne
Summary: Sam finds yet another golden feather in the Bunker.





	Flight

**Author's Note:**

> For SPN Heaven & Hell Bingo, this fills the square Molting. I also used this piece to backfill a Sabriel fluff piece for the 2018 Fic-Facer$ Auction.

The stainless-steel counter top of the Bunker Kitchen gleamed beneath its large ceiling lamp, freshly cleaned. Beer bottles overflowed the recycling bin in the far corner, but Sam resolved to change that later. Books called to him, and so, he tossed the dirty rag into the hamper on his left. Satisfied with his work, he turned on his heel and headed for the Library.

A million different things battled for his attention, Jack at the top of that list with Dean and Mary not far behind. No, in fact, the three of them took up most of his thoughts of late; he worried ceaselessly about them all. His mind raced with all the possibilities, all the outcomes and eventualities. But in the hallway, he stopped dead in his tracks, mind blank and body contorted as he moved in two different directions. A glimmer, caught out of the corner of his eye, snatched his attention and he stumbled over his feet. Intrigued, he changed course, body catching up with his head as he skipped down the short stairs for the main hallway. And within a few steps, the item in question lay at his feet. He leaned over and reached to the floor, determined to get to the bottom of the month-old mystery.

For the fifth time that week, Sam plucked a brilliant golden feather off the floor of the Bunker. And for the fifth time that week, he asked himself the same question.

“Another one?”

His voice echoed down the hallway, heard only by his ears. Between his thumb and forefinger, he spun the long, sleek feather as he examined it. Softer than silk, he dragged it along his open palm as the questions spiraled through his head. He had been in that hallway not ten minutes earlier on his way to the kitchen, and the hallway had been empty.

But there he stood, feather in hand and, with a quick check of either direction, quite alone.

In his palm he examined the golden appendage, so dark near the rachis it might have been brown. But when Sam held it up to the light, the golden aura radiated in waves, brilliant shades of red and yellow and orange broken apart as though he looked through a prism made of fire. Enthralled, Sam gaped, awed by the gorgeous plumage. But then the same thought he’d had all week interrupted his admiration.

It looked exactly like the others.

That entire month Sam had happened upon feather after feather strewn all about the Bunker in the oddest places. Sparse at first, he had found one or two to start. But by the end of the month, he had collected at least one every day, if not more.

And today, that feather confirmed his suspicions, supported by hours of research.

He strode down the hall for the guest room only to find three more feathers outside his door. He scooped them up with great care, intent on keeping them pristine. Around the corner he strode for room 15, wondering, worried.

At the door, he knocked. Silent, no response came, and so, he knocked again. When nobody replied that time, he asked, “Gabby? Are you there?”  Another long stretch of silence replied, and a chill ran along his spine. “Gabriel?” he repeated, insistent.

A faint voice called in response, but not from the direction Sam had expected. Hollow, distant, it sounded a if it came from another room. Around the corner, the voice sounded again, and he followed it. Cautious steps took him to his room where, at his own door he stopped, ear pressed to the wood, and listened.

“Sam?” Gabriel asked as an airy flap of his wings sounded through the door. “Is—is that you?”

“Uh, yeah,” he replied. “Is everything okay?”

A thumping of books rumbled through the door, and Sam swore he heard another buffeting of wings. “Uh,” Gabriel stuttered, “y-yeah. Everything's fine. Hold on a second.”

Another crash of books and what sounded like a rustling of feathers penetrated the heavy wood of his door, and Sam startled into motion. He grasped the handle and torqued as he shouldered through, determined to find out what in God’s name Gabriel had gotten himself into.

He skidded to a halt when he found Gabriel seated in the chair by his desk, an elbow propped on its wooden surface and chin in his hand, one leg crossed over the other. A small smile creased his lips, far too innocent for the likes of him and his pretty face. But when Sam examined his room, he found every book sat on the shelf that lined each wall, not a single page out of place. His stare circled the space until he rounded backed to Gabriel with his too innocent smile and bobbing foot dangling over one leg. Not a hair out of place on his head, not a disheveled article if clothing. In fact, Sam found his gaze lingering on the supple leather of his jacket. As he ogled Gabriel, they both remained silent too long, long enough that Gabriel had grown uneasy enough to speak. “Hey, babe.”

“Don't—” Sam started as he checked the hallway. One day, he'd tell Dean. Not that Dean cared. But he should at least know. Another day, perhaps. He sighed with a heave of his shoulders as he turned back to Gabriel. “Never mind. What's going on?”

Gabriel stood and, though subtle, Sam noted a twitch in the corner of his eye. But his spine straightened and he held his chin high as he spoke. “Nothing,” he started. “Just hangin' out. Was hoping you’d be back soon.” His teeth all but sparkled through his exaggerated smile.

Sam continued to stare, unable or unwilling to look away. It might have been a prank. Some sort of retaliation for the last stunt he'd pulled. But as he scrutinized not only Gabriel, but his room once more, he found little and less made sense. So, he asked again, “You sure you're okay?”

Gabriel crossed the space between the with a slow saunter and slipped past Sam for the door. If Gabriel had attempted to seduce him, it worked, for Sam gaped. Gabriel took the opportunity to answer his question. “Yeah, I’m good. Hungry? I could go for a bite.”

Since when did angels eat? Sam opened his mouth to reply, but Gabriel winced, and his smile faltered. That same flash of pain Sam has noted not a moment earlier passed in half a second, as if he had imagined it, and he blinked in disbelief. Had he? Did his mind play tricks on him?

“Sam?” Gabriel asked. “Now you’ve got me worried.”

The warmth of his hand enveloped the palm of Sam’s as Gabriel neared him. “I’m fine,” he started, cautious with his words. “But you’re in pain.”

A sardonic frown twisted Gabriel’s face. “What?” he drawled. “What makes you say that?”

Sam regarded his room once more. “Well,” Sam started, “For one, you were sitting in my room. Alone.”

Gabriel shrugged with a smirk. “I said I was waiting for you,” he repeated as he pressed closer. “Hungry?”

That settled it. Gabriel was hiding something. Something personal. Between the increasing number of fallen feathers he’d found around the Bunker and finding Gabriel alone in his room, not a shred of doubt lingered with Sam. Not to mention the flashes of pain he had witnessed. Sam knew few angels as tough as Castiel and Gabriel. That he showed any signs of discomfort at all worried Sam endlessly.

“Look, Sam, I get it, you like to stare at me. I don't blame you, it’s a pretty face,” Gabriel babbled as he pressed close, chest flush with Sam’s. “And while I enjoy your romantic gaze of longing, I'm not—”

A sharp crack rent the air, startling both Sam and Gabriel. Over his shoulder, a golden feather appeared from the ether, then drifted to the floor. Two long seconds passed as it fell, time stretched uncomfortably thin. Gabriel froze against him as they watched, mesmerized. When Gabriel turned back to him with his sheepish smile, Sam quirked an inquisitive brow towards his hairline.

“Well, that’s embarrassing,” Gabriel muttered as he averted his eyes.

Sam held up the four feathers he held behind his back. “I’m going to guess this is even more embarrassing.”

Gabriel smiled despite the deep blush across his nose. “And you would be one-hundred percent correct.”

When Sam turned into his room, Gabriel tugged on his hand, and Sam stopped. He turned back to Gabriel and startled at the pained frown contorting his face, shocked by the sudden shift in his demeanor. That wide-eyed terror hit Sam with such guilt, he hoped to God he had not done anything to influence Gabriel’s decision to keep things from him. The mere thought of it broke his heart.

When Gabriel said nothing, Sam spoke in his stead. “What?”

“I uh—I can explain,” he started with his quick blather, “it’s—”

“You’re molting.”

Gabriel's excuse cut off with a click of his teeth. That confirmed it. Sam had suspected as much earlier in the month after he had found a feather in his own bed. He had spent hours in the Archives and the Library to prepare for anything worse; not that archangels had ever died to illness or old age. But Sam preferred to be ready. You know. Just in case. Because he couldn't remember the last time anything even mildly concerning had turned out to be no big deal for anyone he had ever loved. As sad as that thought might be, it had saved Sam some pain over the years.

With his knotted brow and stern sidelong glare, Gabriel studied him as if he had two heads. Sam reached for his pocket to retrieve his phone, hoping to capture the intense face, but a small smile flashed across his lips, too fast for Sam. A tentative step followed Sam back to his desk and Gabriel said, “Alright, yeah, I am. I'm molting.”

“I did a little research—”

“Of course you did.”

Sam shot him a glare much like the one he had just witnessed as he knelt beneath his desk, and Gabriel fell silent once more. When Sam withdrew a large book and a larger box, he said, “Archangels molt every seven thousand years.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel sighed, “It’s… I didn’t realize it was about that time again.”

Again. “How many times have you molted?” Sam asked as he set the box and the book on the bed.

Gabriel took a seat beside the box as he thumbed the clasp. With a squint and a rub of his shoulder, he replied, “About six-hundred and fifty thousand times…”

Sam reared back at that. “You’re the same age as Earth?”

“Give or take a couple thousand years, yeah,” Gabriel said with a shrug. “Why?”

“It’s true, then,” Sam started as he thumbed through the book. “God created the big bang.”

“Oh,” Gabriel droned. “Yeah. That. Dad has a thing for theatrics. Or he used to anyway. Seems to prefer less obtuse methods nowadays.”

“Really?” Sam asked, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “I had no clue. It's not like we ever could have used his help with something. You know, here and there.”

Gabriel’s laughter fell silent, and for a long minute, Sam worried he had offended him somehow.  He had, after all, just insulted his father. But the moment passed in a heartbeat as Gabriel looked him in the eye and asked, “What’s with the box? Did you take up woodworking?”

“No, I did not—never mind. That,” Sam started as he flipped through the pages of the large tome, “Is an Enochian keepsake box. Has some pretty rad properties.” He found the page for which he searched and then turned the book to hand to Gabriel, who took it and read.

“Bottomless space,” he mused, “and prevents the decay, mold, rot, and aging of inanimate objects. That’s mighty useful.” He handed the book back to Sam. “But why did you need it?”

“Try opening it,” Sam said as he nodded towards the box.

Without a word, Gabriel attempted to flip the latch with his forefinger, but it wouldn’t budge. He then grabbed it between his finger and thumb, but to no avail. When his hand slipped from the latch and smacked himself in the forehead, Sam snorted a laugh through his nose.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Sam stated as he placed his hand on the cover. “Now try. Gently.”

A coy smirk accompanied his amber gaze. “Are we still talking about—”

“Just open the damn box, Gabby.”

A hollow, metallic _plonk_ sounded as Gabriel flipped the latch with ease. “Imprinted. That wasn’t in the book,” he commented.

Sam shook his head as he lifted the cover. “I added that,” he said, “in case it fell into the wrong hands.” Intently, he watched as Gabriel’s gaze slid from his to the contents of the box, a flash of recognition brightening his eyes.

He lifted a feather and held it up to the lamp beside Sam’s bed. “How many have you found?”

“Forty-three,” Sam said.

“And you kept them all?” Gabriel asked. “Why?”

With a crooked purse of his lips, Sam thought. He scratched the back of his head as he said, “When I read that archangels molt every seven thousand years, I figured I should keep a few.”

Gabriel winced, whether in pain or at his words, Sam wasn’t sure. He watched as Gabriel fingered through the feathers, flipped past the smaller, downy fluff for the long, stiff flight plumes. A small smile spread across his lips, crooked in his admiration of Sam’s work. “I never thought you’d see this happen to me. I guess I lost track of time.”

Under his breath, Sam laughed. “Sometimes I forget you’re an angel. That you have this giant scope of time and forget what it’s like for me.” His fingers brushed the back of Gabriel’s hand as he added the newly collected feathers to the box. “It’s endearing.”

“Sure,” Gabriel retorted with a roll of his eyes. “More like rude. I should pay better attention to that sort of thing. You don’t have—” he paused with another grimace, though that time Gabriel reached for his shoulder.

Sam closed the lid of the box and set it aside, then slid beside him. “Is it painful? I didn’t find much information about the process of molting.”

From one shoulder to the other, Gabriel rolled his head. “I’m sore. I really should just take the time to prune, but I’ve been pretty preoccupied.”

“Gabriel,” Sam chastised as he grasped him by the shoulders. He turned him to face the foot of his bed, then dug into the muscles of his back. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

Gabriel spluttered in protest as he resisted Sam’s insistent hands. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you prune,” he stated.

Over his shoulder Gabriel glared at him. “That… you don’t need to do that.”

“I want to,” Sam said as he leaned into him, lips on his neck. “Please?”

Beneath his touch, Gabriel all but melted. “Okay, you twisted my arm.”

With another laugh, Sam straightened. “Alright, so,” he paused, “how does this work?”

For a moment, Gabriel said nothing. His scrutinizing stare surveyed Sam’s room from wall to wall. “I should probably sit on the floor,” he started as he slid from the bed.

Sam tossed two pillows to the marble, then followed him to the floor. “I imagine this might take a while,” he suggested.

“Since I haven’t even started, yeah,” Gabriel said as he handed both pillows to him. “I won’t need this, but you might.”

Right. Archangel. Sam stacked the pillows beneath him and sat. “What now?”

A gust of wind rushed through his hair, cool as a spring breeze. Foot by foot, Gabriel’s wings manifested from nothing, primary flight feathers splayed as he stretched. At ten feet, his wingspan reached across Sam’s room, a foot shy of the opposing walls. Enthralled, Sam watched as Gabriel shifted, back arched and shoulders flexed. The silence stretched, broken only by the ruffling of feathers, and Sam’s mind wandered. Without thinking, his fingers found the tight muscles near the base of Gabriel’s wings, then slipped to the hard ridges of the coracoid bone. But the moment his hands shifted, Sam startled.

A sigh so licentious rent the air as Gabriel shivered from head to toe. Sam snatched back his fingers as he gasped his apology. “Are you alright?”

He breathed a sigh of relief as Gabriel laughed. “You really went for it, no foreplay. You didn’t even buy me dinner.”

“What?” Sam asked with a bewildered shake of his head.

Gabriel looked over his shoulder with a crooked eyebrow. “Angel g-spot,” he said as he pointed to his back between his wings. “Also an erogenous zone,” he continued as he motioned to first bone of both wings.

“So,” Sam started, “I basically shoved my hand down your pants without any warm up?”

Sam had never seen him blush that shade of red before. Gabriel searched the room for an explanation, eyes averted as he spoke. “Sort of. Human vessels are a little weird, they can’t quite handle that level of stimulation without…” he paused as his eyes returned to Sam’s. “… without…”

“Without…” Sam repeated, but with Gabriel's suggestive gesticulating, understanding slammed into him and he startled. “Oh.” He covered his mouth. “Oh, no, I am…” he paused as he ran a hand through his hair. “I am so sorry.”

“You didn’t know,” Gabriel said with a shrug and a smile. “I’m not complaining, but I should have said something, or warned you at least. You’ll probably want to start out there.” A flip of his wrist ruffled the stiff flight feathers on the hand of his right wing. “Ugh, what a mess.”

“I said I was sorry—” Sam started as he stood and crossed the room.

“No, not that,” Gabriel said with a laugh. “My wings are a disaster. Look at them. They're terrible.”

At the end of his right wing, Sam spotted what Gabriel meant. Crooked feathers, some loose, some clinging by a thread, stuck out at odd angles. When he adjusted one, Gabriel grunted his relief. “That’s better. Probably been like that for years.”

“Dude, you need to take better care of yourself,” Sam chastised. “There has to be  hundreds of feathers ready to fall out. How do you normally do this?”

“On my own, it takes months,” Gabriel said as he stretched his wrist, parting the flight feathers for him. “Which is why I neglect it. Way easier if someone else helps out.”

“Is there someone that usually does?” Sam asked as he threaded his fingers between the feathers, righting some, but discarding most. Those that sat crooked usually fell away with ease, but some held fast and required a little extra attention. “Gabby?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Sorry, I was…” he paused with a long, dreamy sigh, “I wasn’t paying attention. What did you say?”

“I asked you if you had someone who usually helps you prune,” Sam repeated.

Another coy smirk danced across his lips. “If there was, would you be jeal—ow! Hey!” he shouted, and his wing wrenched from Sam’s hands.

“Sorry,” he simpered as he held aloft a long flight feather. The golden plumage glimmered in the lamplight. “That one felt looser than it was.”

Gabriel settled back in his spot on the floor once more, his wing returned to Sam's hands. “Sure,” he chided. “Just… go easy on me. It’s been a while.” He paused as Sam returned to his task, careful fingers running through his feathers. “His name was Micha.”

With the primary flight feathers straightened, Sam moved into the secondary feathers. “Who?” he asked.

“The angel that used to help me prune,” Gabriel muttered.

Sam glanced at him over his wing and found him picking at the hem of his leather jacket. “Sounds like Micha was pretty important to you.”

Another relaxed sigh breathed from his chest as Gabriel raised his head. “You could say that. I was important to him, too. Kinda like us. A _lot_ like us,” he said with a hearty laugh.

“Mind if I asked what happened to Micha?” Sam said as clumps of short, rounded feathers came away from Gabriel’s wing by the handful.

“He… he died. A long time ago. During a civil war,” Gabriel started. “Hey, go back there, that felt good.”

Sam backtracked at Gabriel’s demand. “Here?”

Another not-so innocent sigh slipped from his lips. “Yeah,” he breathed. “That spot’s been bothering me for damn near a century.”

Though he smiled, Sam’s mind wandered. Gabriel, ancient being that he was, must have incredible stories about the world. But the tiny revelation that was Micha surprised him, though he supposed it shouldn’t. Gabriel’s boundless love surely had been devoted to someone else before Sam. Selfless as he was, Sam failed to imagine Gabriel ever being alone. His thoughts returned to his room when he neared the marginal covets and another shiver coursed through Gabriel’s wings.

“More sensitive the closer I get to the center?” Sam asked.

Gabriel nodded. “That spot there is what I like to call second base.”

“I thought second base was making out,” Sam retorted with a firm prod of his fingers in the alulae feathers and Gabriel startled.

“Hey, now,” he warned, “don’t start anything you won’t finish.”

Rather than respond, Sam scoffed as he shifted to the radius and removed a fistful of loose down from the marginal covets. Focused, intentional, he combed through the small, fluffy feathers with his fingertips. Though Gabriel had fallen quiet again, his spine had straightened, and his hands gripped his knees with white knuckles. Sam spotted his tongue as he licked his lips and pulled them between his teeth. The closer he worked to the humerus bone the more Gabriel squirmed. And the more he squirmed, the more Sam teased, his intent shifted.

“I hate you,” Gabriel groaned.

“And I love you,” Sam retorted as he returned to coracoid bone and smoothed the ruffled feathers from Gabriel’s shiver. “Anything else on this side?”

“Give the underwing a once-over,” Gabriel stated as he collapsed his wing. “But don’t go crazy. I’m already… I owe you, but part of that will be payback for all this.”

“All what?” Sam asked as he pivoted to face him.

Again, Gabriel gestured to his wing as it stretched. “It goes a hell of a lot faster when someone else helps. I appreciate it,” he started. “But something about the way you do it is… it’s weird.”

Sam hesitated as he straightened a few crooked feathers in the secondary if his underwing. “What do you mean?”

Gabriel’s nose scrunched as he thought a moment, and Sam couldn’t help but laugh under his breath. That long nose and those amber eyes had won him over without Gabriel even trying. He was about to say as much when Gabriel spoke instead. “Micah made pruning a very… clinical thing. Procedural. I felt next to nothing when he did it. You, on the other hand… Christ. Erotic doesn’t even come close. And you’re not even trying. You’re just being nice.”

“I… have literally no clue what I’m doing,” Sam stated as he held his hands back. “I’m sorry.”

Affronted, Gabriel shook his head as he held up a pleading hand. “No! Don’t be. I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Micha was an angel. He knew how to uh… how _not_ to touch me. Because angel, right? You just see a wing, hollow bones and some feathers. But Micha saw… my body. My true form. Wings aren’t just these flappy appendages that let me fly. And when I’m molting… pf, that’s a whole ‘nother can.”

“I can… stop,” Sam suggested. “If you want.”

Gabriel stood in a rush and crossed the room to embrace him, arms around his waist and enveloped by his wings. So sudden, Sam froze a breath before returning the hug, holding Gabriel flush to his chest, one hand in his hair. A thousand things ran through his mind, things to say, to comfort. But none of them sufficed. None of them did justice to the way he felt.

Gabriel mumbled against him, barely coherent. “I never would have asked you to do this, even if I’d remembered it was coming.”

The pang in his chest swelled to an ache. “Why?” Sam asked with a quaver in his throat. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

“I don’t know, actually,” Gabriel groaned. “Because it’s one of those dumb angel things. You’ve got plenty of shit to deal with. Don’t need me piling on.”

Where had that come from? Sam grasped him by the shoulders and held him at arm’s length. When Gabriel looked to him, Sam spoke. “You’re not piling on. And were I some celestial being capable of living millennia after millennia, I would gladly prune you every chance I got. How lucky am I, then, that as a human I got the chance anyway? I’m honored. Humbled. And beyond all that, loved.”

Wide-eyed and mouth agape, Gabriel stared as that pink hue returned to his cheeks, his nose. “Thanks,” he started. “I think. That was a compliment, right?”

A sigh heaved Sam’s shoulders as he grasped Gabriel by the face, both hands on either side of his head, and planted a firm, insistent kiss on his lips. He grasped the front of Sam’s shirt, clung to him as if he might fade away if he let go. As his wings wrapped tighter around them both, need radiated from him, and Sam crashed into that torrential wave of overwhelming demand. Seconds disappeared in the liminal space between thoughts, between every soaring breath as Gabriel held him fast and returned his kiss twofold. Immaterial minutes fled in what felt like the blink of an eye when Sam parted from him, breathless. Damn angels don’t need to breath.

“What did I do to deserve that?” Gabriel asked.

Sam’s incredulous laugh filled the room. “Nothing, Gabby,” he said. “Now let me take a look at that other wing.”

“You don’t—”

“Oh, I absolutely will finish what I started. All of it,” Sam said with a devious grin.

Gabriel settled on the floor at his feet, silent for once, no witty retort found on his flippant tongue. When Sam remained where he stood, Gabriel looked up, those golden eyes alight with anticipation, a giddy grin on his lips, and another deep blush reddening his nose.

Chuck bless the archangel that blushed at his human’s promise.


End file.
